


The Division

by seventhstrike



Category: Nikita (TV 2010), Supernatural
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Crossover, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Family Drama, Girls with Guns, Gunplay, Interrogation, M/M, Mostly Dialogue, Spy drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstrike/pseuds/seventhstrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are investigating demonic omens of the bovidae type when they're suddenly surrounded by people with guns. They are taken in to what appears to be a super secret spy base. It's all normal interrogations 101 until demons decide to crash the party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hands up!”

“Freeze!”

“Lower your weapons!”

Shouts come from all directions and in seconds, Sam and Dean are surrounded. Hell, there are even tiny red dots all over their bodies.

“You look like a digital clown!” Dean informs Sam, chuckling. Sam thinks Dean looks like an ass, but he’s not going to say that because he is a good brother.

Sam slowly lowers his shotgun to the ground and raises his hands above his head. Dean does the same, but like always, he has some sort of shit-eating grin on his face.

A woman emerges from the darkness wearing what appears to be a skin-tight leather suit. Dean whistles and she ignores it.

“Spread ‘em,” she orders.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” Dean replies. Sam groans and rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” she orders. She begins patting him down and quickly finds Ruby’s knife, more shotgun shells, a hex bag, a flask full of holy water, a bag of salt, his beretta, and a few other assorted goods. 

A man pats Sam down and takes his weapons as well. Sam and Dean are herded into a dark van and cloth bags are placed over their heads and fastened around their necks. The last thing Sam sees before they shut the door is the woman watching them.

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

They're led into separate, sterile interrogation rooms. While unknown agents (demons with guns? When did they start getting creative?) shackle Dean to the table ("handcuffs; kinky," Dean says. The agents are not impressed), he leans back in a show of casual disregard. Meanwhile, in the room next door, Sam is sitting up straight, trying to determine whether he should be pissed or scared. He can't pick one or the other, so he goes with a safe bet of both.

The agents withdraw and each brother is left waiting. Dean lounges and Sam folds his hands in front of him on the table.

In the control room, Ryan is pacing.

“Who the hell are they and how did they find us?” he demands.

Birkhoff shrugs. “Honestly, they just look like a bunch of cannibal farmers to me,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the screen. Ryan sighs. 

Nikita steps forward. “I’ll take that one,” she says, pointing to the screen with Dean, “and Michael can take the other guy.” She strides off before anyone can respond. Michael shrugs and holds his hands out, palms up, in a gesture of peace. 

“She’s still bitter about the gorgeous comment,” he guesses.

 

“Who are you.” It’s a statement, not a question. It’s demanding and it makes Dean sit up just a little bit straighter (but not by much). 

“Your dream come true, honey,” he says, grinning wickedly. 

Nikita wrinkles her nose. He is one sleazy character. She wishes she'd picked the other guy to interrogate. “Your real name,” she amends.

“Your. Dream,” he replies. “It’s been in the family.” He grins.

“Fine. We can do it that way. If you’re here, you must know who we are and what we do to… intruders.” She slowly stands up and Dean watches her as she rises from her silver chair. 

“Well isn’t that just hunky dory. What have you got planned for me?” He’s still grinning. 

Nikita smiles. “Not for you. Your… friend.” She tilts her head. 

He immediately closes up. The grin disappears in a flash, but then it’s back. 

“No, no… I uh,” he replies, trying to regain his composure. Nikita recognizes the weakness and pounces.

“No, you’re right. I am _your_ dream come true. But not your friend’s.” She turns to leave, but is stopped by a voice.

“Dean Winchester. That’s my name.” 

Nikita turns and looks him over. 

“So Dean. Why were you and your friend scoping out our fields?” 

Dean almost looks abashed and tries to reach up to scratch the back of his head, but finds his movements constrained by the handcuffs. He jerks on them and then leans forward to rest his elbows on the table instead. 

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t actually know you… this… was all down here?” He tries to gesture at the walls around him, but he ends up just jerking his elbows out.

“No,” Nikita replies.

“Well, whatever. I didn’t know there was some super secret spy lab down here. I mean seriously, what the hell dude? We’re just minding our own business and out pops a bunch of freaky deeky spy dudes? Seriously?”

“You were in a restricted area standing over a dead cow. You had a number of weapons and a few… other things. What do you want me to believe?” 

Dean grimaces. It sounds worse when she says it.

“We were investigating,” Dean explains.

“Investigating,” she echoes.

“The… cow mutilations?” 

“So you didn’t do it.”

“No,” he replies, giving her a questioning glance. Nikita frowns.

“Hey, Nikki!” pipes a voice in her ear. Nikita stands up and quickly exits the room, letting the door close behind her before she responds. 

“Hey nerd, what’ve you got?” 

“So listen, if this really is the… you know… _Dean Winchester_ he says he is, he’s not only lying, but he’s died twice and he’s wanted for murder. Or, he was. And get this: grave desecration! Oh, and a ton of credit card fraud, a few assaults, a couple impersonating a police officer’s…. seriously, the list goes on.”

“Weird,” she muses. She leans against the wall. “So what? Is he really some psycho freak who goes around killing cows, killing people, and digging up graves?” 

“Yeah, seems so. That and he and his friend—which I think is his brother, Sam Winchester—landed in jail for screwing up a robbery. And they had the FBI on their tail for a while. Seriously Nikki, these guys are grade-A freaks.”

“Have you told Michael?” 

“Yeah. The other guy is just sitting there.”

Nikita nods, but then realizes that Birkhoff can’t hear her.

“Thanks nerd,” she says, and then steps back into the interrogation room.

“Grave desecration, murder, assault; you’ve got a pretty lengthy rap sheet. You sure you were ‘investigating’ those cow deaths?”

“Seriously? Why does everyone skip to the grave desecration part?” Dean whines. Nikita frowns, but doesn’t say anything. “Whatever, fine. We were investigating those deaths. It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe us. We’ll be out soon enough.”

Alarm bells go off in Nikita’s head and she feels her hair stand on edge. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” she says coldly. “Now tell me: why were you here?”

“I already told you! Damnit,” Dear swears. His fists are clenched and his shoulders are tensed.

“I think he’s telling the truth, Nikki,” Birkhoff supplies helpfully. Nikita does too. But it doesn’t really make sense.

“So if you were here investigating those deaths—why? They’re just… beef.” 

“Delicious beef,” he agrees. She gives him a withering stare. “Fine. We think some crazy is out killing them.”

“So you’re cops.”

“Not quite.”

“And you’re definitely not FBI because last I heard, they were going after you.”

“No way ma’am, we died in a helicopter crash.” The grin Dean gives her is positively glowing. Nikita sighs. 

“Well, if I’m not going to get any answers out of you, I’ll have to talk to your older brother,” she says and then rises to stand.

“Little,” he corrects her automatically. “Sammy’s my little brother.” Nikita nods, keeping her expression schooled. She isn’t quite sure how Sam Winchester could be considered the little brother, but she supposes life isn’t always fair. She smirks to herself and then closes the door behind her. 

“Birkhoff, tell Michael to let me talk to Sam.” 

“Sure thing Nikki.”

A few seconds pass before Michael stands up and leaves the other interrogation room. He closes the door behind him.

“Anything?” she asks. 

He shakes his head. “He’s just sitting there. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was _sleeping_.” 

“This keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” Nikita sighs.

“Hey,” Michael says, reaching up with his hands to cup Nikita’s face. “I know this wasn’t what we thought life would be like with New Division, but we’ll get through this.” 

Nikita sighs, but after a moment’s hesitation, she reaches up and cradles Michael’s hands with her own. 

“You’re right. It’s just,” she begins, but stops, sighing. “ _Weird_.”

“Oh, I know,” Michael says. He drops his hands and then walks past her to lean against a wall. “You want me to talk to the other guy? Dean?”

“Yeah, see if you can get anything out of him. He’s pretty protective of Sam. Big brother complex and all.”

“Sam’s the _little_ —younger— brother?” Michael responds, trying not to let the surprise show on his face.

“Yeah, I know,” Nikita replies, grinning. 

“Well,” Michael says.

“Well,” Nikita says. She squares her shoulders and then opens the door to confront Sam Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

No matter how much Sam concentrates and prays, he knows it’s not going to be enough. Castiel isn’t here and every other angel that might have ever considered helping them is gone. Dead. 

He closes his eyes as the man stares at him. Maybe if he can sleep, he can find Castiel in a dream and tell him where he is. 

The thought scares him. The only angel that ever visited him in his dreams was Lucifer and he really doesn’t want to be thinking about that.

Sam really just wants to sleep. 

\- - -

She enters the room. The room is cold and the man is breathing deeply. At first she thought Michael was right—that he _was_ was sleeping—but as she looks closer, she saw his eyes move and caught a flash of white. If anything, it looks like he was trying to sleep, but couldn't. 

She shut the door behind her and strode over to the table. Nikita's shoes click against the floor and it seems to rouse their prisoner from his attempted sleep. Like his brother, Sam Winchester was handcuffed to the chair. Nikita itches to slam the chair down on the floor to get his attention, but decides against it. It's not quite time for the good-cop bad-cop routine. Instead, she had to settle for slamming her hands down on the table. 

He jerks his head up and gave her a sharp glare, but said nothing. 

Nikita tilts her head to one side and smiles.

For some reason, this makes him widen his eyes. 

“Christo,” he mutters. Nikita frowns.

“So you’re a religious man,” Nikita says. 

“Not quite,” he replies. He tightens his lips into a thin line and watches her warily from behind his long hair. She had the feeling that he wants to brush it aside, but since his hands were otherwise occupied, he had to glare at her like an overemotional teenager. Well, at least he hadn’t dyed his hair black.

“I’m sure Michael’s already told you: we know, Sam.” She pauses, hoping that he would fill in the blanks.

“Not really,” he sighs. He leans back and rests his elbows on the arms of the chair. “He just sat there and watched me,” Sam replies, jerking his head to the chair. 

Nikita walks behind her own chair and rests her palms on the back. “So you don’t know then,” she muses softly. She leans forward, her expression hard. “Well, we know about the murders, the assaults, the robberies, and the grave desecration.” 

“Naturally,” he replies. She’s not sure if he’s being serious or sarcastic. She leans down, but he has his head tilted down to the floor. 

“It’s a bit unnatural, wouldn’t you think? You’re dead, and yet here you look very much alive to me.” Nikita’s no stranger to the world of faked deaths, but faking your own death twice is a bit much—for a civilian, at least.

His laugh surprises her. 

“Yeah,” he says, and then falls silent. 

“From what I can tell, you were hunting someone: someone who’s been killing those cattle,” Nikita begins, “but what I can’t understand is _why_.”

“Why is a human life worth so much more than an animal’s?” he asks. This time, he leans forward and his look is earnest. It’s almost as if he believes this. 

“We eat beef. Why are these any different?” she asks.

He shrugs and then leans back. 

This wasn’t going anywhere. She glances up to the camera in the corner. She’s exasperated and she doesn’t understand why they’re here.

Birkhoff’s voice chimes in her ear: “remember Nikki: new Division; you can’t torture these guys.” 

Nikita wishes there was another way to extract information from them. All she wants is the truth: no more deflection and no more jackass remarks. But she also knows that no interrogation is that easy. She can’t let this wear her down. She just hopes Michael is having better luck. 

\- - - 

“Dean Winchester,” he drawls. His lips are pursed when he sits down in the chair. 

“You,” Dean drawls in response, since he doesn’t know the guy’s name. “Hey, you think I could get some water? Or whiskey? Maybe both? I’m kinda parched.” He grins.

Michael frowns at him. “No,” he replies flatly. “Why were you out in those fields?” 

“Getting me some tasty burgers,” Dean snarks. “Well, not yet. Gotta kill ‘em and then get them out. That’s where our plan hit a snag.” He grins and leans back in the chair.

Michael’s not sure which point to go after first: the fact that they were armed to the teeth with weapons, wandering around a field five miles from the nearest road, and had no way of transporting anything. But Michael also recognizes a diversion when he sees one. 

“Right,” Michael replies. “From what I understand, animal murder isn’t your normal MO.”

“Only on full moons. Gotta pray to our overlord Satan and all.” It seems as though Dean forgets that he’s joking, because halfway through, his shit-eating grin starts to falter.

“Right,” Michael says, drawing out the vowels. “So lets discuss why you were really out there: we found you wandering—”

The lights flicker once, twice, three times. 

Dean’s grin disappears entirely. 

Michael glances up to the camera in the ceiling of the room and frowns.

“No idea, shit, shit, shit,” Birkhoff shouts into his ear. The earpiece screeches and Michael flinches.

“Okay man, it looks better. No idea what just happened. It should be okay,” Birkhoff says. 

Michael is silent. 

Birkhoff speaks: “Okay, so I pulled up some of their files from when Dean was apparently buried and—” 

Birkhoff is gone and his voice is replaced by a static fuzz. 

Michael pretends that he has just received important information and he stands up and quickly exits the room. Once outside, he sees Nikita has exited the room as well. 

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Attack on Division?” she asks. “They’ve got some sort of frequency jammer on them and more are coming,” she hypothesizes.

“We patted them down when we took them in. There were no wires. We didn’t miss anything,” he points out.

“Okay, so what? The lights flickered, our comm’s are down, what the hell is going on?” 

“Guys! Hey, Nikita, Michael, something’s causing our communications to go nuts.” Alex’s heels click loudly against the hard floors. 

“Why? What’s going on?” 

“Honestly? Birkhoff’s stumped. He can’t figure it out. Something’s screwing everything up. The screens are on the fritz and it’s—holy shit!” Alex strides over to the room where Sam is sitting. “Guys, he’s drawing something on the table and—oh that is nasty!” She revoils and looks at Nikita.

Nikita and Michael peer over her shoulder through the window next to the door. Sam is drawing something inside of a circle with what looks to be his own blood. 

For a second, nothing happens. Then Nikita, Alex, and Michael all begin arguing.

“We need to go in there,” Nikita demands and then reaches out to open the door.

“Wait!” Alex intercepts Nikita and tries to grab Nikita’s hand. Habit forces Nikita to jerk her hand back and she pauses before she drops her hands to her sides.

“What?” she demands. 

Alex steps back and Nikita does the same so that Michael can be included in their group.

“Birkhoff was trying to tell you guys something before he got cut off. When Dean and Sam were in prison, their medical files said that they each had tattoos on their chests in the shape of a star surrounded by flames. If these are really Sam and Dean Winchester, they should have that tattoo.” 

“Thanks Alex,” Nikita says. She opens the door and enters the room with Sam Winchester.

“Stop that,” she says immediately. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. After all, he’s drawing it in his _blood_. The first thing any sane, rational person would do is demand that such behaviour cease immediately. 

His hands freeze. He doesn’t look up. His eyes are hidden underneath a wave of hair.

“What are you drawing?” Nikita asks cautiously.

“Protection,” he grunts. 

“Well, stop that,” she replies. She doesn’t know if she should believe him or not. His hands hover over the circle and then he leans back. He clasps his right hand over his left palm to stop the bleeding. 

“Unbutton your shirt,” she demands. Sam gives her a confused look, but tries to comply regardless. He lets go of his left hand and tries to reach up with his hands, but is stopped by the handcuffs. 

“A hand?” he asks. 

“Lean forward,” she replies. He grunts in annoyance, but follows along anyhow. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. 

“Okay,” he says. “Happy?” 

“Show me the tattoo,” she demands. He sighs and pulls the opening of his shirt down. Nothing. 

“Other side,” she amends. He looks worried. Slowly, the tattoo is revealed underneath a sea of plaid. 

“So you really are Sam Winchester then,” she says as he yanks his shirt down and slouches in the chair. “Tell me: why are you here?”

“You’re in danger.” His voice is quiet and he’s looking at the circle of blood. 

“No Sam, I don’t think we’re the ones you should be worried about,” she replies, trying to sound soothing and warm. It doesn’t seem to work because he jerks his head up and leans forward. 

“You don’t know what’s out there. The flickering lights, your feeds not working, your little earpieces—that’s the beginning. It’s just going to get worse.” He speaks with such conviction that Nikita knows that he believes this. 

“So you’re working with someone,” Nikita says. She leans forward. Finally she’s getting somewhere.

“No, we’re trying to stop them. We can’t do this here.” He raises his hands, still shackled, to demonstrate his point.

“Who’s after us?” 

Sam doesn’t answer.

“Sam.” Nikita leans forward. “What’s going on? I know you’re a good man, Sam Winchester. You can tell me. We can help. Whatever you’re fighting—those people who’re killing the animals—we can help you. But only if you let us.” 

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t understand. They’re not here for you. They’re here for us.”

The lights flicker again and then go out completely. Sam and Nikita are thrust into a world of darkness. It’s deadly silent. He hears someone open the door.

“Nikita! Quick! Something—” Birkoff's voice echoes in Nikita's earpiece before it succumbs to static once more.

The lights flicker back on. Nikita is standing over the unconscious body of a brunette woman.

“You’re right,” Nikita says. “We _are_ here for you.”


End file.
